


A Winchester Christmas Carol

by Cerdic519



Category: A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens, Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Alternate Universe - Victorian, F/M, London, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 06:31:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is the miser's miser, the meanest alpha in Old London Town. But seven years after the death of his partner Victor Henriksen, Victor's ghost visits him at his house, in a last chance for both of them.....</p><p>Redone and expanded into chapter format, and now with a second epilogue (I spoil y'all!).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stave The First

The brass plate was old and dirty, although anyone who came close could still read the name ‘Henriksen & Winchester, Moneylenders’. It wasn’t showy, but then people who came to this shop didn’t do so through choice. The door was firmly shut against the winter snow lying thick outside, but the shop itself was so cold this made little difference. Anyone passing could have seen three men through the window, two wrapped in heavy winter coats, a third in a much thinner one.

“Gentlemen, I beseech you”, he said hurriedly. “My employer will be back shortly, and he does not give to charities. Ever.”

But the orphanage is such a worthy…. oh”. The taller of the two other men stopped, and glanced meaningfully at his companion. “Your boss is Dean Winchester?”

The secretary nodded, mournfully. The two other men exchanged what was most definitely a look of sympathy.

“And you are?” asked the shorter of the visitors.

“James Newton, sirs, at your service.”

“Perhaps we might see Mr. Henriksen?” the taller man suggested.

“Mr. Henriksen passed on seven years ago”, the secretary said heavily, as if it was something he was all too used to repeating. “I really must insist…”

The bell over the door rang harshly, as a tall man entered. He scowled at the two visitors, glared at his bespectacled secretary, the stomped into the office and slammed the door shut viciously. The two visitors stared at each other, then slipped quickly out of the door. The secretary stared after them, knowing full well what was coming next.

“Newton! Get in here!”

He carefully got down from his desk, grabbed the three letters, and limped as quickly as he could into his employer’s room, which was if anything even colder than the entrance lobby. It was also dark, his employer’s face lit by a single candle, the fire staying unlit. Darkness and cold were cheap, and Mr. Winchester liked them both.

“How did those men get in here?” he demanded angrily.

“I believe they came through the door, sir”, Newton said wearily. He had long found the best way of dealing with his employer’s frequent bursts of anger was a polite obtuseness.

Mr. Winchester glared at him. It was hard to glare at someone who wore those strange 'sunglasses' – some fluff or other about stopping his eyesight failing – but he gave it his best shot.

“What did they want?” he snapped.

“They were collecting for the orphanage, sir. Apparently it needs a new roof. The current one leaks.”

“Better to weed out the weaklings, then, and decrease the surplus population!” his employer sneered. He glared again at his secretary. “Today’s letters, Newton.”

“One from Milton’s, saying your new shirt is ready for collection, and asking if you would like to go there to try it on."

“No! What; they think I've put on ten pounds since the fitting or something? They’ve been paid to send it here, and they can bloody well do so!”

“One from Mrs. Welsh, asking for more time.”

“The usual place.”

The secretary placed the second letter in a small letter-rack. He knew full well that his employer would later take great pleasure into tearing it up into taper strips for his candles and fireplace.

“And one from your brother, inviting you round for Christmas dinner.”

“Sammy never gives up, does he?” his employer sneered. “Thinks I might actually start supporting a mere teacher and his artist mate!”

“Do you wish me to draft a reply, sir?”

“No! Put it with the rest of the begging letters; I’m in the mood to tear a few more up today. And talking of useless, I suppose you’ll be wanting tomorrow off?”

“Er, yes, if you please, sir.”

“I do not please. Twenty-four hours when I could be making money, and the world stops for some.... humbug! If I see one more carol singer, I’ll stuff their songbook where the sun doesn’t shine! Still, since everyone will be busy tomorrow, and people I need to collect money from will be God knows where, I suppose you might as well not bother coming in, even though I have to pay you for the 'privilege'. Just make sure you’re here at eight the day after, though. I shall be collecting a few debts, and I need you to get the paperwork together.”

“Files 231 through 235, plus 186A and B” his secretary said at once. “They are marked and ready for when you need them."

“Regular little angel, aren’t you?” his employer snapped. He was fiddling with his locked drawer, so didn’t notice how his employee flinched at those words. “Douse the fire, finish up the Barclay report, and you may go home.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Newton made his escape, and spent the next ten minutes pretending to work on a file he had already done before slipping quietly out into the cold London night.

 

His employer had used to stay at least an hour after his clerk, but Newton was so efficient that he had found of late he had little to do. In all honesty Dean found the man a little disturbing. He had come to him two years ago when the last in a long line of secretaries had quit, and had shown nothing but quiet efficiency ever since, apparently able to tolerate Dean's moods with indifference. Those creepy glasses that reflected the light in strange ways were a bit weird, and the limp looked out of place on someone so young, but Dean didn't comment, particularly as it was his own carelessness in leaving a ledger in the wrong place that had caused Newton's fall a few weeks ago, and the subsequent limp.

Putting his weird secretary out of his mind, he pulled on his coat, and was about to leave when he caught sight of his brother’s letter on the side of the table. For the briefest of moments he felt a tinge of regret; Sammy had once been the centre of his life, but then….

He scowled, and knocked the letter into the bin. Then he stared at it, feeling for some strange reason it was staring back accusingly at him, and eventually picked it up and locked it in his drawer. Finally he left, locking the office behind him.

 

Though there was no way any of his clients would ever see it, they would have been surprised if not shocked to see Dean’s house. Despite being one of the richest men in Old London Town, he still lived in the same ramshackle two-storey house he had inherited from his parents. There were much nicer houses closer to his office, but Dean told himself he was saving money by staying put. And money was really the be all and end all of things, wasn’t it?

It started snowing again when he was halfway home, and he was glad when his front door finally came into view. The small porch overhang had long fallen down, so he had to blink the snow out of his eyes whilst he fumbled for the key. But as he did so, he felt a strange shiver run down his spine. He stepped back, and looked at the door, and in particular the door-knocker, one his father had brought back from his foreign travels because the demon thing was meant to ward off evil spirits. And as he looked at it, the knocker began to change, until it was definitely the head of his former partner, Victor Henriksen.

It winked at him.

At that moment a huge sheet of snow chose to slide off the roof and half-bury him, blinding him for a few moments. When he recovered his vision, the door-knocker was just a door-knocker, tarnished brass and as ugly as ever.

“I knew that soup was off this morning”, he grumbled to himself.

 

There was some three-day-old bread and the remains of that soup in the kitchen, which he decided he'd heat up for supper. He lit the fire using a taper from Mrs. Welsh’s most recent begging letter – out by New Year, he thought sourly – then sat down by the weak fire to eat his meal.

The house was cold, as he liked it, but when he woke from what must have been an unexpected doze, it seemed colder than usual. He wrapped his dressing-gown around his clothes and shivered, deciding to go up to bed. But before he could move, he caught sight of a familiar figure sitting in the chair opposite. A figure wrapped in huge chains.

“Victor?” he gasped.

“Who else?” grinned his former partner.

At that point Dean’s vision came to, and he realized he could see the chair through his partner. Then that must mean….

“You’re a ghost!”

“Always said you’d get on, Dean-o!” he grinned. “Sharp as ever, I see.”

“But how? And the chains?”

“I made these chains myself, Dean-o”, he said suddenly looking much sadder. “Link by link, for every foul deed I committed in life. Yours was this long seven years ago, and you have been working on it every day since. It’s a ponderous chain you’re making for yourself, Dean-o!”

Dean suddenly felt the weight of those chains on him. He couldn’t breathe.

“No!” he gasped. “Have mercy!”

It’s because of mercy that I am here, Dean-o”, he said. “I have served seven years in Purgatory, and now I face my final test to decide whether I am destined for Heaven or Hell.”

“A test? What is it?”

The ghost stood up and drifted closer to him, until it was just inches away from his face.

“You, Dean Winchester. You are my final test. Heaven thinks me so unworthy that they have set me the most impossible of tasks. Save you from this fate.”

His former partner clicked his fingers. The chains vanished. Dean gasped in relief.

“Er, thank you, Victor. You were always a good friend to me.”

“I know. It was that one act of friendship which persuaded them to give me this chance. Anyway, to business. You are to be visited by three ghosts, who will show you the errors of your ways. Kindly note that errors is most definitely a plural.”

“Three!” Dean uttered a manly yell, which was most definitely not a shriek. “Er, couldn't I have them all at once, and get it over with?”

The ghost glared at him.

“Expect the first when the bell tolls one, the second when the bell tolls two, and the third when the bell tolls three. And know this, Dean-o. If he will wait for you, I shall be free.”

“He? Who he?

The ghost melted away, and in the square outside the clock began to strike midnight. Dean shivered, and it wasn’t just the cold in the house.

 

By the time he had shuffled upstairs to bed, he had managed to at least partly convince himself that his former partner’s appearance was more down to indigestion that to any supernatural activity. Yes, old Vic was more gravy that grave, he sniggered to himself, as he pulled his bed curtains tight and settled down to sleep. He looked forward to a good night’s rest.

Things did not quite turn out that way….


	2. Stave the Second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is visited by a decidedly moose-ish Ghost of Christmas Past

Dean could sleep through most things, so he was surprised when he woke with a start to hear the church clock in the square outside striking one. He blinked wearily, then blinked again.

Standing at the end of the bed was… his brother?

“Sammy?”

The ghost stared hard at him, unsmiling. Dean paled.

“You’re dead?”

The ghost said nothing, then gave Dean his brother’s casebook bitchface.

“I might as well be, as far as you care!”

“You’re not dead?”

“No. But since the only shred of conscience Victor could find inside that noggin of yours had my name on it, I get the job.”

“What job?”

“I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.”

“Long past?”

“Your past, brother.”

Dean stared at him. He must be having a nightmare.

Then the ghost slapped him.

“Ow!”

He tried to slap back, but his hand passed right through the shimmering figure in front of him. That was definitely not fair!

“What do you want?” he growled.

“I am here for your welfare, brother.”

“Denying me my beauty sleep is hardly conducive to my welfare!”

“And I can see how much you need your beauty sleep!" the ghost snarked. "Your well-being, then. Come!”

The ghost touched his shoulder. Dean's vision blurred, and when it cleared….

 

“Oh no, Sammy! This is low!”

“We are here to see important moments in your life, Dean. This was one of them.”

“I don’t want to see this!”

“Why are you so worried? These are but shadows of the things that have been. Watch, now.”

The scene in front of them was a small bedroom. A woman lay in the double bed, clearly very ill. She was holding a baby boy to her, singing softly to him. Beside her, a child of about four years old stood silently, tears streaming down his freckled cheeks. She looked up and beckoned him closer.

“Come here, my love”

The boy edged forward, still crying. The woman ran a hand down his cheek, wiping away some of his tears.

“Dean, you know Mummy is going to Heaven soon, to be with Jesus.”

The boy nodded, and sniffed.

“And when I am gone, I want you to watch over Samuel, and that’s a big job for a man like you. So to help you, I shall ask Jesus for an angel to watch over you.”

The boy sniffed again.

“I want you to promise me that you’ll always be there for Samuel”, she said, trying to smile. “I don’t want to go thinking anything bad could happen to the two angels I already have. Will you promise me that, my love?”

“I promise, Mummy.”

“Thank you, my love. Can you take Samuel into his room for me now? I feel tired.”

The boy stepped forward and gently took his brother, carrying him from the room. Once he had gone, the woman wept silently.

 

“You didn’t keep your word, Dean.”

“Hey, I was four years old. And I tried. I really tried!”

“I know.”

And he felt the ghost’s touch on his shoulder again.

 

Dean felt the beginnings of a smile when he saw where they were this time. It was about a dozen years later, just after his father had died, and they were standing in front of a merchant’s warehouse, with the sign ‘Harvelle’s’ in lime green writing outside.

“I was apprenticed here”, he said softly. “My first job, after….”

He stopped.

“After your time on the streets, supporting me”, the ghost said softly.

“Yes. This was the first place I was truly happy.”

“And how much does happiness sell for on the Stock Exchange, these days?”

Dean gave him a sour look. Then they were inside, as the workers rushed around to clear the floor for what was obviously a Christmas dance. An elderly woman, matronly but still good-looking, led the way onto the floor, with a bearded man who looked ten kinds of uncomfortable in his suit. Dean felt a smile coming. His surrogate father always hated wearing a suit!

“Ellen and Bobby. My other parents.”

“Such a giving couple. They adopted their two friends' sons when they died, as well. Two brothers, Dean.”

Dean reddened. He knew what was coming next.

 

Sure enough, two omegas came through behind the couple. The elder was about Dean’s age, with slick golden hair and a mischievous grin. He bounced over to where the young Sam was sitting, and immediately offered him a bag of sweets. Sam sighed as if put upon, but took one, and didn’t push the boy away when he sat down alongside him.

Dean barely saw all this. His attention was riveted on the other omega. A couple of years younger, he had untidy dark brown hair and the most startling blue eyes. Everything about him shouted his unwillingness to be here, and as soon as Ellen and Bobby had started leading the first dance, he slipped away to the side and went up the stairs to the back balcony.

He did not go unnoticed. A figure followed him silently, emerging through the evening mist to make him jump.

“Mr. Winchester!”

“I’m sorry, Cas….”

“Cas?”

“Er, is that too forward? Sorry, if I’ve offended….”

Dean made to leave, but Castiel placed a hand on his arm.

“No, that’s all right. I’ve... um, I've never had a nickname before. I like it.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

The hand was withdrawn. The two boys stood in silence.

“How did you end up working for mother?” Castiel asked.

Dean blushed.

“Bobby met me through a friend of his called Vincent. I… got to know his son, Victor, and he found out I was good with figures.”

Castiel looked at him silently.

“You were selling yourself on the streets, weren’t you, Dean?”

The elder boy hung his head.

“I’d better go now”, he mumbled.

“Why were you doing it?”

“Pardon?”

“Why? You had to have a reason.”

“My father died recently. He left us nothing but bills, and I had to support Sammy.”

“Oh. Your brother.”

“Yes.”

“Gabriel’s taken quite a shine to him. He normally wins over everyone he meets. I think Sam is the first person who’s ever made him work for a friendship.”

“Sammy doesn’t make friends easily. We’ve never been able to afford friends.”

“Do you think….?”

“What, Cas?”

“Do you think you could ever be friends with me?”

The young Dean turned and stared at him.

“Oh God, yes!”

They moved closer together.

 

“He was beautiful, wasn’t he?” the ghost said gently.

Dean sniffed.

“He was.”

“And he loved you.”

“I know, but…..”

The balcony faded away, and Dean could hear the sound of waves lapping gently against the bank. Westminster. Please, no.

 

“Another year?” Castiel looked crushed, fingering the plain silver ring around his finger.

“I’ve been offered a junior position at Victor’s dad’s place”, Dean said, looking out across the dirty river Thames. “It means a lot more money than I’m getting at Ellen’s. I can buy us a decent house straight off if I work there a year, and we’ll no longer have to mooch off your parents.”

“But what about your job with them?”

“Cas, Harvelle’s is dead on its feet. It’ll be bought out within the year, either by Victor’s firm or someone like them.”

“You can’t let them do that!”

“It’s progress, Cas. Like those big new steam engines that can go faster than a galloping horse. You can’t stop it.”

“I don’t want to wait another year. You promised you’d marry me this spring.”

“I just want what’s best for you, Cas. And that means me taking a better paid job so I can support you. I still love you, you know.”

“I know. I love you too, Dean.”

 

“He'd mave married you in his shift, Dean.”

"I just wanted what was best for him!"

"And for your wallet!"

"Hey, our world is based on money! We put people in prison if they don't have any!"

"But you could still have been happy with him, even poor."

“Perhaps. I’d never been happy before, and….”

He stopped.

“Never since”, whispered the ghost.

“Please, no more!”

“We must. You know full well what happened next.”

And the riverbank faded, to be replaced the one thing Dean knew was coming.

 

Dean’s tiny office at work. He was frowning over a ledger, as Castiel approached.

“Dean?”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” The young man refused to look up.

“There’s something you don’t know about all this…”

“I walked into my own house and saw your brother in bed with mine! Sammy may be an alpha, but he's still a kid, you know!”

“Gabriel loves him!”

“Your brother is a struggling artist, Cas. And since the warehouse closed down, he’s worth nothing!”

"They love each other!"

"As if that matters!"

Castiel winced.

“He has a house”, he muttered.

Dean looked up sharply.

“What?”

“Our parents – our real ones – died last month. Their lawyer came round last week. They left most of their money to the Church, but our old house was left to Gabriel.”

“I don’t care if he has bloody Buckingham Palace! He’s not sleeping with Sammy!”

“Like you’re not sleeping with me?”

Dean stood up fast and smashed his fist down on the table. Castiel whimpered and stepped back, openly afraid.

“Get out!”

"Dean, please!"

"Leave!"

Castiel stared at him for a moment.

“I… I don’t know you any more, Dean”, he whispered sadly. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

He twisted the silver ring off his finger, and placed it on one side of a set of scales on the desk. Then he picked up a few pennies, and placed them on the other side. The pennies went down with a clatter.

“You see, Dean?” he said gently. “When you weigh my love against what really matters to you, it weighs very little.”

He turned and stumbled out of the door, and Dean could hear him sobbing as he went. His younger self half rose as if to follow him, then frowned even more deeply, and turned back to his ledger.

“Fool!” he muttered.

 

“You're the fool!" Dean shouted. “Why didn't you go after him? Try to explain?”

“You were on a roll then, Dean”, the ghost said quietly. “First you drove off the love of your life, and then....”

“No! I've seen enough!”

He tried to move away, but some force kept him in place. The office faded, to be replaced by his own kitchen at home. Dean's heart sank even further, as he heard his younger self coming through the front door, calling out to his brother.

He knew there would be no reply.

 

“Sammy? Where the hell are you? This isn’t funny!”

His younger self entered the kitchen, and saw the note on the table. Dean winced at the horrified look on the man's face as he saw his life continuing to unravel.

‘Dean,  
Just to let you know three things:  
1) Castiel left for New York today, on the Fallen Angel out of London. He does not intend to come back. You really hurt him.  
2) After we saw him off, Gabriel asked me to marry him, and to move in with him straight away. I have accepted. You know where I now live.  
3) Thank you for all you have done in bringing me up.  
Sam’

The young man crumpled into a chair, and wept silently. Then he finally pulled himself together, and muttered a single word before rushing out of the house.

“Plymouth!”

 

Dean rushed onto the dockside, and was lucky enough to find a board listing arrivals and departures on the outside of the harbour master’s office. The Fallen Angel had departed at mid-day. He pulled out his watch.

Half-past twelve.

Then he looked up. Framed against the afternoon sky, a single ship could be seen easing its way out to sea. Dean didn’t even need his binoculars to see that the ship’s figurehead, visible as she turned to the south-west, was a beautiful angel….

 

He glared at the ghost.

“Happy now?” he snapped. “Or do you want to show me when I picked up the paper a week later and saw the ship was lost with all hands?”

The ghost grinned evilly.

“After all the pain you inflicted on those who loved you? Oh no, Dean. I intend to be far more cruel than that. Look behind you.”

Dean felt a strange prickling in the back of his neck. He slowly turned round, to see a familiar figure struggling to lift a heavy bag as he tottered towards a dockside hotel.

“Cas!” he gasped incredulously.

“He didn’t want to leave England”, the ghost said dryly. “And he was never totally keen on a country the other side of the world. He got off the ship an hour before you arrived, chatted to the harbour-master for a bit, then left to return to London.”

“Where is he? Tell me!” Dean tried to shake the ghost by the shoulders, but his hands grasped at empty air.

“I cannot, Dean. Remember, these are but shadows of the things that have been. Soon, you will be visited by my friend, the Ghost of Christmas Present. He will show you shadows of the things as they are - not just as you see them. Be warned, jerk!”

And with a final slap, the ghost of his brother faded along with the noisy dockside into nothingness, and Dean found himself standing next to his own bed, in a silent cold room.

Then, outside, he heard the church clock striking two.


	3. Stave The Third

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ghost of Christmas Present shows Dean what an 'idjit' he really is.

Nothing happened.

Dean looked around anxiously, but the room was most definitely ghost-less. In his relief, he allowed himself to relax.

Then someone cuffed him along the side of his head, and he heard an all-too-familiar muttering of ‘idiot!’

“Bobby?” he gasped.

“His former employee’s husband was decked out in green and red, and looked even more uncomfortable than he had in his suit at the warehouse dance. But at least he was glowering at Dean just like of old.

“You’re not dead either?”

“Might as well be, for all the attention you spare me. Ellen took you off the streets, and you haven't seen her or me in years!”

Dean hung his head in shame.

“Still, if you feel bad now, wait till you see what I’ve got lined up for you!”

And with that he cuffed the young man again. Dean’s vision actually blurred, and when it cleared, things were… different.

 

Dean had always thought his offices were cold – which was okay, because cold was cheap, and he preferred it – but this was taking things to extremes. It must have been several degrees below freezing, and the walls of the small wooden hut the ghost had taken him to did little to keep out the driving snow he could see through the frosted window.

“Where are we?” he shivered.

The ghost, typically, looked as warm as toast, though none of his heat reached the few inches across to Dean.

“York Factory. It’s a trading post on Hudson Bay, in British North America. Not a very successful one, and life is pretty hard here.”

“Why do they do it, then?”

The ghost looked hard at him.

“Some men seek solitude, or being isolated from most of humanity. Mark, Tom and Pete, the three men sat round the fire over there, have to like each other, or they couldn’t survive out here. Christmas is a time to relax, to see the better side of humanity.”

Dean huffed.

“Some humans don’t have a better side”, he snarked.

“You should know, Dean. Your company drove my wife out of business, and you just stood by and did nothing.”

“I was only a junior! What could I do?”

“Even an offer of financial help would have been appreciated. It was thanks to Ellen that you didn’t stay on the streets, selling your body to survive. But apparently Dean Winchester doesn’t do gratitude. You’re as cold as the weather here. Maybe you need a little warning up?”

And he cuffed Dean again.

 

It was summertime, and a group of bronzed men and women were playing or lounging on the beach.

There was also a pile of wrapped presents on the sand.

“What on earth…?” Dean began.

“The province of New South Wales, in what was once New Holland”, the ghost explained. “It is December the twenty-fifth, but Christmas here comes in midsummer.”

“Weird!”

“Yet they still celebrate it. People came here from Great Britain seeking a new life for themselves, a chance to start again. Many won’t make it, but the dream still draws them on. How long is it since you followed your dream, Dean?”

“Dreams don’t pay the bills!”

“True. But without them you become a bitter, lonely, cold-hearted miser, despised by all around him…. oh wait, you’re there already!”

Dean would have hit him if he could.

“What have they got to be so happy about, anyway?” he muttered.

“They’re living their dream. That’s how people look when they have something precious, Dean. I think you knew someone who looked at you like that once, before you drove him away.”

He was about to snap back when he felt a familiar pain on the side of his head. He was beginning to get tired of this.

 

It was still hot, but now also very humid. Close by, some strange-looking tree was festooned with decorations, and presents lay underneath it. Three young Army officers were sat round a dinner-table, which was laden with food. A fourth man in civilian clothing, obviously an omega, was serving them. One of the men grasped at his ass as he went by, earning him a disapproving slap, but also a smile.

“Where are we?” Dean panted.

“The North-West Frontier Province, British India. Probably one of the most dangerous outposts of the Empire.”

“Then why are these men celebrating?”

The ghost looked at his strangely.

“Because they have survived another year. The table is set for five, not four. Their absent friend was killed in a raid three months ago.”

“Is that all people celebrate for, then? Getting through another twelve months?”

“I seem to recall a time when you and little Sammy were relieved to make it to the end of the year, even if you couldn’t afford presents.”

“I did my best for him!”

“Yes, until….”

“Ow! Stop that!”

 

They were standing in front of a small but well-kept house, with a holly wreath on the door. The sound of a party going on could be heard from inside. The ghost promptly whacked him again, and they were inside.

"Sammy?"

His brother was standing over by the window, looking sadly out onto the street. A door opened silently behind him, and Gabriel came through.

"Beloved, they're missing you", he said softly.

Sam turned a tear-stained face to his mate. 

"He didn't come, Gabe."

The omega came silently up to him and wrapped his arms around his husband. 

"Did you really think he would?" he said softly. "You know how he feels about Christmas. He calls it a humbug!"

"I really hoped... this year, he might...."

Gabriel kissed him lightly.

"I'll tell them you're sorting out some more food, and I'll order it up from the kitchens", he said softly. "Come and join us, moose. Cas will be here soon."

"Isn't he back yet?"

"He had to go to the shop. He didn't get paid until last night."

"Of course. That bastard boss of his would never part with a penny a moment sooner than he had to!"

"See you back there in five minutes, beautiful", Gabriel whispered, and left. Sam continued to stare out of the window, a tear slowly trickling down his cheek.

 

"I want to see Cas!" Dean said firmly, watching out for the next blow. 

"Something else first", the ghost said airily. "We need to go downstairs."

"Why?" Dean asked.

"Just do as you are told, Dean", the ghost said patiently. 

Dean grumbled under his breath, but followed, though he was careful to keep his distance.

 

They were down in the basement, which had been converted into a small apartment. The room looked like it knew it was the bare minimum for one person to survive, though it was clean and well-kept. It was also bitterly cold, even more so when someone opened the door and blew in with a flurry of snow. Dean was momentarily blinded, but when his vision cleared he was shocked. 

It was his secretary, little James Newton, limping slowly over to the fireplace, where he started laying a meagre fire. For the first time, Dean actually realized how frail the man was.

Newton lived with Sammy? But why?

Dean watched his secretary as he moved quietly around the apartment, making no noise at all, before going over to the mirror to try to comb his unruly hair. Something was very odd.

Then his secretary took off his dark glasses, and Dean saw his reflection in the mirror, The eyes were haggard, but unmistakably…..

“You have got to be kidding me!”

The ghost chuckled.

“Funny, that’s what Gabriel told him when he got the job with you!”

“But he’s….” Dean trailed off. He didn’t want to say something dumb like ‘different’ or even ‘broken’, but his mind seemed to have frozen.

“Anyway, we’d better be getting on”, the ghost said briskly. “I’m busy tonight, what with it being Christmas Day and all. So let’s just….”

Dean moved sharply away from him.

“Don't take me yet! I want….”

He stopped. Words seemed in short supply tonight.

“What do you want, Dean?” the ghost asked softly.

I want to turn back time and not be such a dick, was what he thought. He didn’t say it, but judging from the ghost’s overly wide smirk, he knew anyway.

He was such a jerk. Sammy had been right. He could have had Cas all that time, but he’d turned him away, and nearly killed him. And despite that, Cas had come back to him; he must have still felt something for Dean, otherwise why would he….

The sound of running feet on the stairs broke his train of thought. Newton had just taken a toy wooden horse out of the bag he had been carrying, but hastily stuffed it back in. again, just before a small boy burst into the room. He must have been about six years old, and was unmistakably his father’s son, having the same mussed-up dark hair as Castiel. He was painfully thin, and even as he hurried across the room he coughed, causing his father to look anxiously at him.

Then the bottom fell out of Dean’s world for the second time in minutes. The boy’s eyes were green and gold, and his face was freckled.

"No!" Dean gasped in shock.

“Timothy!” Castiel said reprovingly. “I told you to stay in bed!”

“Uncle Gabriel brought me down some sausages from the party!” the boy babbled excitedly. “And some juice!”

“Uncle Gabriel is too good to you. And you know I need to wrap your present.” He fondled the boy’s untidy hair, and Dean could see the tears in his eyes.

“Why are you crying, daddy?”

“I…. wanted to get you more for Christmas, Timothy”, his father sighed. “But things are so expensive, and…..”

“Daddy, I have what I want for Christmas already!”

“You do, Timothy? And what’s that?”

“You!”

Castiel broke down, sobbing as he held his son close. Then Timothy started coughing again, and he led him gently over to the tap, where he poured him a glass of water.

 

“He’s my son, isn’t he?” Dean said flatly.

“Yes. The last night you slept together. He still didn’t know when he left for America.”

“What’s wrong with the boy?”

“Do you care? I mean, isn't it better, as someone once said, to 'weed out the weaklings, then, and decrease the surplus population'?”

Dean hung his head. His own words, thrown back at him. The ghost sighed.

“The boy is weak. There are doctors who could cure him, but they’re all horrendously expensive. Sam and Gabriel are putting aside the money Castiel pays them in rent to try to fund a treatment, but….”

The ghost stopped.

“But what?” Dean urged.

“I cannot tell you.”

Dean desperately grabbed the ghost's long green robe.

“Please! I have to know!”

“That is the future, Dean. A future shaped by the past and present. The next ghost will show you the future you have chosen. And it is not going to be pretty!”

He vanished, but not before cuffing Dean one final time. The room faded back to Dean’s bedroom, although in his mind he could still hear the crying of the man he had so cruelly broken all those years before.

It hurt. He had had someone who'd loved him, and he'd thrown it all away.


	4. Stave The Fourth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean sees his probable future. It is not exactly pleasant.

Dean fully expected the Ghost of Christmas Future to be someone from his past life. So when the clock outside struck three, he braced himself for the worst.

On the third stroke, the ghost duly appeared. Eight foot tall, wearing a long black cowled robe, and carrying a scythe. 

Death.

Okay, Victor had always had a sick sense of humour, but this was taking things a bit far.

“You are the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come?” Dean asked, wondering why his voice was suddenly so high.

The figure nodded.

“And you are to show me shadows of the things that will.... may be?”

The figure nodded again. Dean began to have a very bad feeling about this.

“I do not think my future is going to be that good”, he muttered.

The ghost said nothing, but raised a heavily sleeved arm, and Dean's vision clouded. When it cleared, he was somewhere surprisingly familiar. And he knew immediately that something was wrong.

This was his place, the Stock Exchange. Hey, that was even his pillar, the one he leant against whilst waiting for those in need of his services came up to him. But he wasn’t there, despite the huge clock on the wall reading half-past nine.

Instead, a group of his colleagues – McAlistair, Crowley and Uriel – were chatting to each other, rubbing their hands against the winter chill.

“Well, all I know is that he’s gone”, Crowley said flatly. “And not before time, too.”

“Is the funeral date set?” McAlistair asked.

“Why?” Crowley smirked. “Not thinking of going, are you? It’ll be family and friends only.”

“Then it’ll be a bloody small service!”, the Scotsman retorted. “Besides, there’s bound to be a buffet at the wake. Never turn down free food, that’s my motto.”

Uriel poked him in his ample stomach.

“I think we can all see that!” he grinned.

McAlsitair swatted him away.

“I wonder who he left all his money to?” mused Crowley. “I know he had a brother once, but they never talked.”

“Not me, so I don’t really care”, McAlistair remarked.

They all laughed.

 

Dean’s bad feeling was getting progressively worse. But before he could say anything, the arm came up again, and when his vision cleared this time, he found himself in the front room of a small house. A man was sitting there, clearly close to tears. As Dean watched, the door opened, and a familiar woman entered.

“Jo?” he gasped.

“Ash, darling.”

The man looked up, and when he saw the expression on the woman’s face, his own brightened.

“You talked him into an extension?” he said hopefully.

“Not exactly”, she admitted.

He looked puzzled.

“So he’s still going to take the house, then? Christmas time and all!”

“No. We're safe.”

He looked puzzled.

“He’s gone, Ash. The final judgement. I spoke to Sam, who’s sorting out his affairs. The loan will be transferred to someone else, but not until the New Year, and we’ll have the money by then. He’s dead, Ash, but… we’re free!”

He swiftly stood up and crossed the room to take her in his arms.

“I’m sorry”, he whispered. “I know he was an old friend of yours.”

"I hadn’t seen him in years. And he never answered my letters. I don’t think he had any friends when it came to it.”

 

“It's me, isn't it?” Dean said heavily. “I've died, and everyone is happy. Wonderful. Not a single person misses me, do they?”

Once again, the arm came up. And when it lowered this time, Dean had his answer.

His brother, his head in his hands, with a glass of wine untouched on the table next to him. Gabriel was standing behind him, his hands draped lightly over the back of the chair, just touching Sam’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Sam.”

“I was so close, Gabe! Cas told me he kept the last letter for weeks. Didn’t tear it up like the others. I was so close to getting through to him, and now…. this!”

“It's not fair, Sam.”

The younger Winchester sniffed.

“How is Cas taking it?”

“He still isn’t back yet.”

Sam raised a tear-stained face.

“It's even harder for him, I know. I've lost a brother, but he..... he's lost almost everything!"

“He walks a little slower these last few nights, without…. you know.”

Gabriel hugged him over the back of the chair. Sam sniffed.

“Hell, I’m one of the richest men in Old London Town! Just because my loving big brother was too tight to afford a solicitor to write me out of his will, despite what he said! And do you know what, Gabe? I’d trade it all for his forgiveness, and just one day back the way we were!”

“None of us can turn back time, Sam. You should use all that money to do some good, like he never did. Perhaps a new orphanage, or something.”

“You always wanted a bigger house. I know you did.”

“We can’t move now. Not with Cas…..”

“No. It wouldn’t be right.”

Sam started to cry again, and the room faded. Dean was left totally in the dark.

 

“Why?” he demanded. “I died, I can see that, and I deserved it for being such a bastard, but what happened to Cas? Why is he….”

He stopped, as the awful truth hit him.

“No!” he cried, as a new picture formed before him.

It was a graveyard.

At first he thought he was alone except for the ghost. Then he saw a small figure kneeling down in a dark corner of the graveyard. And with that sort of horrible efficiency the human brain can demonstrate at times like this, he knew immediately who it was.

“Please, no!” he cried, knowing tears were running down his own face, but not caring. This was just too cruel.

 

“I’m so sorry, Timothy. I failed you.”

Castiel sobbed, his head in his hands. Dean stared at the scene in anguish.

“If only I’d been brave enough to approach your father. I know everyone says he’s the devil incarnate, but surely he wouldn’t have refused to help his own flesh and blood? I’d have even signed you over to him if it could have saved your life. It would have broken me, but I’d have done it for you, my angel. And now, it’s too late. I failed you, and I’m so sorry!”

He broke down again. After some time he pulled himself together, and after kissing his son’s simple wooden cross, he walked stiffly over to the other side of the graveyard, where the larger graves were located. He stopped in front of an open one bearing a large black headstone, with an angel at the top. He stood before it in silence.

Dean was so caught up in watching his former lover that he didn’t notice when the ghost moved silently to stand next to him. Then its cowl fell away, to reveal….

“Mum?”

Mary Winchester slapped him.

“Ow!” What am I tonight, a ghosts' punch-bag?”

“What did I tell you, Dean?” she said angrily. “I said that when I got to Heaven, I’d send an angel down to watch over you.”

“Well, yes, but….”

“And what did you do to him? Treat him like dirt!”

The two of them were now standing right next to Castiel, who had knelt down and was praying silently in front of the black grave. Except there was now a name on that grave. Dean Alexander Winchester.

“Look, Mum, I’m sorry” he said desperately. “I know I treated Cas badly – Hell, I treated everyone badly – but this future isn’t certain, is it? I can be a better person and all that. I can, really!”

“You don’t understand, son”, she said, smiling almost sadly. “Castiel still loves you, but he does not trust you any more. And without trust, you cannot build any sort of relationship.”

“So how do I make him trust me?”

“You cannot. Trust comes from within, son. You have to prove yourself worthy of that trust. It will not be easy. Breaking something or someone takes but a second, but mending what you have broken can take years. I sent you an angel to watch over you, and here he lies in the dirt. You have a long road ahead of you. Make sure you are worthy of him if he decides you deserve another chance.”

"Thanks, mum..."

She looked at him strangely, and Dean suddenly had a very bad feeling. 

"The lesson is not over yet", she said.

And suddenly, Dean was falling in front of his former lover into the - his grave.

 

"Hullo again, Dean-o!"

Dean stared in shock at his former friend.

"Victor?"

"Of course", the ghost grinned. "You didn't think life stops with death, did you? Not after seeing yours truly. This is what awaits you in the next world."

Dean was suddenly aware that it was bitingly cold.

"I thought Hell was supposed to be hot", he groused.

"Not for you!" Victor laughed. "After all, your activities in the above world were so pleasing to Lucifer that he decided to grant you a singular honour."

The two of them were suddenly in a very familiar room, except every single surface was covered in snow. 

"Mr Newton's office!" Dean gasped.

"Indeed!" the ghost beamed. "You are to be to Lucifer what James Newton was to you. You'll probably be the only person in Hell with frostbite! Oh, and Lucifer sends his apologies as to your chains not being ready in time. Apparently they were so large that they had to employ extra demons to make them!"

The chains suddenly appeared wrapped around him, causing Dean to sink the ground under their weight.

"Ah, they're here" Victor said cheerfully.

"Have mercy, Vic!" Dean begged. "Please!"

He tried to reach out to his friend, but the weight of the chains was too much and he sank back, clawing at them ineffectually....


	5. Stave The Fifth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean starts to make amends.

He woke to find himself entangled in his bed-curtains. For a confused moment he wondered if last night had been a dream - but then he heard something that made him suddenly decide that didn't matter.

Christmas bells! The spirits had brought him back in time for Christmas Day!

He tried to gather his thoughts as to all the things he had to do today. He had been shown the errors (damn Victor, definitely a plural) of his ways, and boy, was he going to change. Quite a few people were going to get the shock of their lives! And the sound of footsteps on the staircase told him the first of those people was about to arrive.

Mrs. Barnes, his cleaning lady, came in, balancing a tray of soup on her arm whilst she struggled with the door. Dean smirked. He knew she did some work as a psychic, so she should be expected to know what was about to hit her. He feigned sleep whilst she deposited the tray on the bedside table, and went to draw back the curtains.

“And what is the meaning of this, Mrs. Barnes?” he demanded as unpleasantly as he could fake.

“The meaning of what, Mr. Winchester?” she said, patiently, pulling back the curtains and crossing to the other window.

“Coming in here, today of all days!”

“You told me to come here today, sir.”

“Oh yes. I did. Hmm. I believe you know Mrs. Harvelle, my brother’s cook?”

She turned round in shock.

“Yes, I know Ell… Mrs. Harvelle.” She was looking at him warily, now.

“Right. Then I have two very important things I need you to do for me”, he said, getting out of the bed and crossing to his desk. “First, I want you to go to her, and tell her to meet me outside the butcher’s shop in the next street. In half an hour.”

She was looking at him as if she was convinced he had finally lost it. He suddenly laughed out loud, and it felt so good. Obviously he was out of practice, for Mrs. Barnes promptly screamed and bolted for the door. Still laughing, he managed to beat her to it.

“I’m not mad, Mrs. Barnes”, he chuckled. “Far from it. I believe I’ve finally come to my senses. But I mentioned two things. The second is for you to take this home to your husband, and to make sure you don’t let me see you until the New Year.”

She looked at the coin he had pressed into her trembling hands, and seemed about to faint.

“A g…g…guinea, sir?”

“Yes. Christmas presents for all the ones I forgot, so you can make up for it all this year. A Merry Christmas, Mrs. Barnes! Now, go tell Ellen to get her skates on!”

She looked as if she couldn’t decide whether to scream or faint.

“A Merry Christmas, Mr. Winchester!” she yelled, and bolted from the room.

 

His former employer was the third person who was looking at him that morning as if he had totally gone off his rocker (the butcher had been the second).

“Is this some sort of joke?” she asked, looking suspiciously at him. “Because your brother took me in when the warehouse closed, and if you’re trying something to get even with him….”

“I swear it’s nothing of the sort, Ellen. Now, look in the window and tell me, which is the largest goose there you can have read for dinner today.”

She was giving him the same look his cleaner had done, obviously split between wanting to believe what he said and fearful that his sudden lunacy might be contagious. Then she pointed tentatively at one of the largest birds in the shop. He grinned at her.

“I promise, I want to put things right. I’ve been treating those I love wrong for so many years now, and it’s time I started to make amends. The butcher will get his boy to deliver it to your house pronto, and you’ve only got to promise me two things in return.”

“Which is?”

“Take this", he said, pressing a heavy bag of coins into her hand. "Christmas gifts for all the ones I missed. And promise me you won't make poor Bobby wear a suit to dinner!”

She laughed.

 

Dean braced himself. It had been fun so far, but now came the hard part. He looked at the small house in front of him, trying to drum up enough courage to climb the two steps and press the doorbell. Even when he did so, he felt a terrifying urge to run away.

The door was opened by a small maid wearing a grey uniform.

“Might I see your master for a few moments?” he asked, nervously. “Mr. Samuel Winchester?”

“Of course, sir”, she said, curtseying. “If you’ll just wait here, I believe he’s about to sit down to dinner.”

She took his hat, scarf and coat, and placed them carefully into a small cloakroom before disappearing off into a side-door. He could hear his brother’s expression of annoyance from behind the half-open door, then Sam came bundling through it….

… and stopped dead. For a terrible moment Dean thought he was angry at the visit, until he realized. Sammy had Cas in the house, and he was afraid for his brother-in-law.

“It’s okay, Sammy…. Sam”, he corrected. “I know he’s here. If you don’t want me here…”

“No!” his brother gasped. “Hell, I’ve always wanted you here, Dean. Every Christmas since I left home. But why now?”

“Let’s just say I’ve seen the light. I realize what a fool I’ve been, and I’ve come to beg you – and Gabriel – to let me back into your lives. Please!”

He knew he couldn’t match his brother’s puppy-dog eyes, but he tried for his most begging expression. For all of two seconds, until Sam stepped forward and enfolded him in a giant hug.”

“Thank you, Dean! Thank you for making this the best Christmas ever!”

The two hugged each other for what seemed like forever, until a nervous cough from behind caused them to break apart. Gabriel was standing in the doorway, looking decidedly nervous.

“Sammich?” he said quietly.

Dean walked over to him and pulled a long envelope out of his pocket, which he gave to him. Gabriel looked at it suspiciously, the carefully opened it, and pulled out a slip of paper. When he read what was on it, he paled.

“We can’t accept this!”

“You can!” Dean said firmly. “All the Christmases and birthdays I missed through my own stupidity, plus a nest-egg for your two little mites upstairs. I know this is all very sudden but… do you think I could stay for dinner?”

“If you make my husband as happy as he is now, you can stay for ever!” Gabriel smiled. Then he suddenly looked nervous. “You know we have…. company?”

“I know. That’s the other reason I’m here.”

“Be gentle with him. I couldn’t live with seeing him broke like last time.”

“I promise. Where is he?”

“Should be in the dining-room any minute – yes, that’s the door to the basement. I’d recognize that creak anywhere. Come on, Sam-i-am. I think we need to give your big brother a little space.”

He hustled the taller man away. Dean sucked in a big breath of air, then walked up to the dining-room door and slowly pushed it open.

His son was sat on a chair by the fire, wrapped in a warm blanket. He was looking happily at the little toy horse – the same one, Dean realized, his father had bought him the day before. Castiel, his back to Dean, was carefully picking up the discarded wrapping-paper.

“Who was that, Sam?” he asked, not turning round.

Dean coughed nervously.

“Er, hello…. Mr. Newton.”

Castiel froze for a moment, then in one movement turned and shot round to stand between his son and his employer.

“Dean! I mean, Mr. Winchester.”

His son, mercifully for both men, chose this moment to butt in.

“Who’s this, daddy?”

Castiel paled even further, and seemed to be lost for words. Dean so wanted to tell his son who he was, but he had reconciled himself before coming to keeping silent on the matter. The Ghost of Christmas Future had been right; he had to prove himself worthy of trust from both these men.

“I’m Uncle Sam's brother”, he said softly. “He invited me to dinner, if that’s all right?”

“Did you bring presents?”

“Timothy!” Castiel said reprovingly.

“I have, and I hope you like it. It’s sort of for you and your dad together, if that’s okay?”

“That’s even better”, the boy smiled. “My dad’s the best dad in the world, and he deserves way more presents!”

Dean tried not to tear up. He took a small card out of his pocket, and handed it to Castiel, who looked at it with a frown.

“Doctor St. Leger is one of Harley Street’s best”, Dean said. “He’s off for the Christmas break, but he can see Tim any time in the New Year. He’ll make him better, I know he will!”

Castiel was staring at him as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Why?” he asked eventually. “W... what happened?”

Dean sighed.

“I realized what I threw away. I made a stupid decision, and wasted seven years of my life when I could have been with…. with the man I love.”

“Dean, you’re not asking….

“No. I have no right, after what I did, and way I treated you. Even when you were James Newton, I treated you badly. I don’t deserve another chance. But… if you’d give me a year….”

He stopped. Castiel looked at him in confusion.

“A year?” he asked, tilting his head to one side.

Dean’s heart crumpled - he had so missed that look - but he managed to stumble on.

“Twelve months, to prove myself worthy. I don’t deserve someone as beautiful as you, Cas. I know I’ve changed, but I have no right to expect you to let me back into your life – both of your lives. I’m begging you, just let me make the attempt. I’ll show you I’m a better man, or die trying.

Castiel turned away, and for an awful moment Dean was sure he was going to say no. Then he turned back, his eyes full of tears.

“I... I can give you a year”, he whispered.

“Thank you”, Dean said, feeling as if a great weight had been taken from his shoulders. “Just… thank you.”

Timothy coughed at this point, and Castiel went to get him a glass of water. As Dean looked after him, he caught a familiar-looking figure standing behind the door, smiling at him. Victor, holding an equally transparent glass of whisky. And spreading out behind him, a ghostly pair of white wings. The angel raised his glass to his former partner, and melted away.


	6. Stave The Sixth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What destiel story would be complete without an epilogue?

Eleven years later

He may only have just turned eighteen, but the boy was tall and muscular, and even his perpetually untidy hair didn’t detract from his stunning handsomeness. He duly made a short speech praising everyone who had contributed, cut the ribbon, then stepped off the back of the stage to where his parents were waiting.

Castiel ruffled his son’s hair affectionately, though he had to reach up to do it.

“That was good, Tim”, he smiled.

“Well, it’s yours and dad’s money that made it possible”, Timothy grinned. The scrawny little child who coughed his way through his first six years of life had taken twelve months to be fully cured, but since then he had put on a growth spurt to match that of his Uncle Samuel, and was now easily taller than both his parents. Their three other children, the eight-year-old twins Daniel and Michael, and six-year-old Anna, stood a little further back, being cared for by their Uncle Gabriel. Timothy wondered wryly how many sweets he had slipped them all to keep them quiet.

Dean reached across and kissed Castiel lightly, and Timothy smiled to himself as he saw the two men hug each other. He knew they were a little uneasy about public declarations of affection, not least in front of their own children, but he was happy for them both. Ten years together now, and they still loved each other passionately.

It was only when they were all riding back in the carriage that he realized something was odd. They were going a different route, heading out into the country.

“Why are we heading this way, Dean? Castiel asked.

“It’s a surprise”, grinned his husband. “Another fifteen minutes, and you’ll see.”

Fifteen more minutes took them to St. Ethelburga’s Church, where Timothy remembered his parents had got married ten years earlier, formally welcoming Dean into their lives. Or back into their lives as they had explained to him more recently. He still found it hard to reconcile the image of that flint-hearted miser to the loving husband and generous father he knew so well. Timothy wasn't overly fond of the church himself; old Reverend Woodman’s sermons really ought to have come supplied with free pillows.

The church was apparently expecting some major event, for it was festooned with flags and bunting. To Timothy’s surprise, he recognized several of the people there; Bobby and Ellen Singer, plus their daughter Jo and her husband Ash, and a few others from Dean’s shop and Castiel’s library. Once the carriage stopped moving, Dean leapt down, but instead of holding out his hand to help his husband down, knelt before him.

“Cas, ten years ago today you made me the happiest alpha alive by taking my name. I know I’ve never been one for big romantic gestures, but I wanted to make this anniversary something special. It’s a renewal of vows ceremony, a chance for us to pledge ourselves to each other once more, and to reaffirm our love. Castiel James Winchester, may I take you by the hand?”

Somehow Castiel managed to leap from a sitting position into the arms of his husband, who spun him round and round. Then the two walked slowly into the church, with Sam and Gabriel marshaling the three younger Winchesters behind them. And finally, bringing up the rear, Timothy, smiling broadly at the love between his parents.

Then he realized something was different. The presiding vicar was not old Reverend Woodman, but a new young lad, ginger-haired and freckled, who smiled nervously at the assembled throng. An omega. And handsome to boot.

Timothy grinned wolfishly. Maybe church wasn’t such a bad place after all….


	7. Stave The Seventh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today is the 173rd anniversary of the publication of Charles Dickens' famous novella, so I thought I would revisit one of my first ever destiel fics.

Five more years on

The bells of London's many churches were ringing out in a glorious cacophony of noise, as people thronged the busy streets. London was a mess at the best of times, but on the day of the Lord Mayor's Show, it became downright impossible!

Daniel Winchester put down his cards and grinned at his twin brother, who pouted when he saw all the aces.

“Damn!” Michael swore. “Why isn't Timmy here to save from getting my arse kicked?"

“Again”, Dan added, pulling the small pile of toffees towards him, and swatting his brother's hand away from them. Their sister Anna strode by and snagged one before Dan could stop her.

“He and Rory are probably making out”, she said, pulling a face as she popped the sweet into her mouth. “Adults!”

“You'll get spots with all those sweets”, Mike pointed out.

“You won't, considering you always lose yours to him!” Anna retorted.

Mike's reply was cut off by their eldest brother's hurried entrance into the room, followed by his omega mate. Both of them looked more than a little dishevelled. The younger Winchesters all smirked as one.

“Shut up!” Tom said before they could comment. “Younger brothers and sisters are the devil's work, I swear!”

“I wouldn't know”, Rory said, coming up and wrapping his arms around his much taller husband. “I was the youngest of six.”

“Euw!” Anna groaned. “Imagine that! Six versions of Timmy!”

She dodged out of her eldest brother's swat just in time.

“Are you lot ready?” Tim said testily. “We'll be late!”

Dan grinned at him.

“We weren't the ones who....”

“Finish that sentence and you won't see adulthood!” his brother growled, though he smiled when his mate kissed him. “Come on!”

+~+~+

Thankfully the family got to Westminster Hall on time, though they could hear the approaching parade as they went to stand outside. The golden carriage (“like a fairy-tale, Anna had gushed, making her three brothers all roll their eyes) pulled to a halt, and a tall figure got out. Definitely an alpha, dressed in the very finest Savile Row suit. This was where, traditionally, the alpha's family would greet him and then follow him in as he was formally inaugurated as Lord Mayor, but Tim held the children back.

The alpha hesitated, then stepped back to the coach and was clearly assisting someone else out of it. An omega in an identical suit, slightly shorter than his alpha but very clearly happy to be there. They kissed, and then the alpha eased him to stand next to him. The herald seemed taken aback at this breach of tradition, but he made a quick recovery. Once the fanfare from the trumpeters lined up outside the Hall had finished, he stepped forward and unrolled a scroll.

“Ladies and gentlemen, alphas, betas and omegas, I give you your rightfully appointed Lord Mayor of the fair city of London. All hail Mr. Dean Winchester!”

Dean leant down and kissed Castiel, then threw his arms open to his family, who all hurried forward to greet him. There were some murmurings from the crowd at what had happened, but also a ripple of applause that gradually grew louder. Then the Lord Mayor and his mate strode into the Hall side by side, their family trailing behind him.


End file.
